


A Simmering Sunset

by orphan_account



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Crushes, Headcanon: Jafar likes to smoke, I had too much fun writing this, Kissing, M/M, Not unrequited love as much as unrequited crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Masrur gets a silly crush on his pupil, a young girl he considers his own sister, he doesn’t like the feelings bubbling inside of him and goes t an old friend and someone knows he likes, hoping for advice or something to take his mind of the girl.
Relationships: Jafar/Masrur (Magi), Masrur/Morgiana (Magi) unrequited crush
Kudos: 5





	A Simmering Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Me being proud of my writing and the contents of that writing? Finally-
> 
> More Masja because these dorks need love.

The ground cracked under her curled feet.

There had always been something delicate about her feet, but maybe it was their size compared to his. Smaller, and less roughed up. Weaker than his, but not weaker than a normal person’s.

Masrur smiled, hidden and unusual for him, and he knew Morgiana didn’t see it.

She was a connection to their homeland, another Fanalis, and Masrur felt himself get attached to her, more than he should.

He didn’t like getting a crush on her, he saw her as a sister, especially since she was so _young._ He knew some men fancied girls many years younger, but he wasn’t one of them.

Every time they fought, hard kicks and swift punches flying through the air like a hurricane, every time he felt his heart pull.

He didn’t wanna do something stupid.

Despite the rumours flying around, that he was a blockhead, stupid or simply an idiot, he knew he wasn’t. And he knew that what he was feeling was bad.

This feeling, a crush, would be harmless if you could ignore it, but whenever he saw her he was close, way too close to give into a dark desire.

He sighed, leaning his head back onto thick bark. The sunlights last hours were closing in, and yet he felt very energetic. Taking a deep breath he let the scenery of light shining through the leaves and bouncing off the tattered ground disappear when closing his eyes.

The warm sunsets of Sindria was nothing to scoff at. And Masrur often times found himself staring at it, but today he didn’t bother giving it a single glance.

The cold stone hit his feet, a familiar feeling. His ears picked up on a quiet voice, and instead of walking up to his destination he ran.

The walls, the decorations and the people all went past him in a blur of colours and undefined shapes. They twisted, contorted, a reflection of his self hate in this stupid situation. He ran, the sound echoing against the stone walls and echoing inside his head until it hurt.

The gently light was flickering, casting long shadows across the walls. He must’ve hit a record, running up to Ja’far’s office so quickly.

He could smell the ink that covered Ja’far’s calloused fingertips, could hear the tired sighs and yawns and the creaking of the chair. When he entered the room he could see the dark blue shading under attentive grey eyes, see the flickering candle coat his freckled face in a dim warm light, sculpting the young, pale face into something aged and worn.

Masrur’s eyes caught on the only thing _worn_ in Ja’far. His hands. Hardened and shaped from a life of hard work, hands that have been broken and built up again, healed and formed into something capable of anything.

Grey eyes met crimson, and Ja’far have a tired smile, the green keffiyeh behind him on his cluttered table, even the small jewelled chain he wore on his forehead had been thrown aside, stuffed between endless scrolls.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Oh? Here or somewhere more private?”

“Private.”

The smile didn’t budge. “Of course.”

The other generals had rooms decorated, stuff that related to their likes and homelands, but Ja’far’s had nothing. Empty described it best, and despite a bed a wardrobe and a desk being inside the room it felt too stiff, too clean, if someone didn’t know Ja’far lived there they would’ve suspected the room to be uninhabited.

The only time it had a single sign or trace of life was when he had guests over, and Masrur was usually the victim for the room’s cold stare.

Ja’far had stolen Sinbad’s hidden stash of alcohol, letting Masrur have a glass, resorting to inhaling the smoke from a cigar.

Masrur didn’t like smoke, especially not smoke from cigars, but the ones Ja’far liked always had a tinge of sweet in it, like a sprinkle of sugar in a bland soup. 

Ja’far smirked, seeing the way Masrur followed the smoke lingering up into the ceiling, watching him think over the sensations.

He blew out q hefty amount of smoke in front of him, the grey matching his soft eyes, even when it hindered his gaze to fall on the red head sitting only a few metres away.

“You wanted to talk.”

“I do. I have something to confess.” 

Ja’far quirked an eyebrow at the tone, resting his head in his hand, elbow scratching to surface of the old wooden desk, made to be useful and not pretty, making it blend in with the dull atmosphere.

“I have a crush on Morgiana.”

Ja’far closed his eyes, taking a long inhale of the smoke, before opening his eyes again, gently whispering. “What the fuck.”

If their king would’ve been here a snort, or maybe a warm chuckle would’ve sounded out in the room, golden eyes meeting with white hair, grinning at the owner of the whisper, watching him intently, the jingling sound of golden hoop earrings stopping after its owner stopped expressing his amusement.

But Sinbad wasn’t here, and the only sound after was the gently cricket from a cicada, or the gently winds carrying from the ocean. Masrur was staring at the floor, the empty cup in between his strong fingers, gently dangling above the floor.

“...you’re serious.” Ja’far seemed shocked, before muttering “of course you are...excuse my surprise, and my swearing.”

“You know I don’t care.” Masrur said, gripping the edge of the fragile cup tighter.

Ja’far nodded, staring at his friend. “Then, you have feelings for the girl.” It was said like a statement, a fact, and not a question. Masure felt his guts twitch in a sick way as he nodded.

Ja’far didn’t say anything, letting the tap of his bitten down nails against the disk answer the silence left behind.

“That’s certainly a large confession... I’ve never seen you fancy anyone, and I didn’t think young girls were your preference.” Ja’far said. His voice carried the words with a cynical fashion, a sarcastic and blunt tone. Masrur knew he wasn’t trying to sound rude, so he ignored it.

“I don’t wanna see her that way.”

“Understandable...I think you‘re into _men_ mostly.” Ja’far chuckled, his eyes lidding, and he put out the cigar, now watching Masrur clearly in the dark room. “You’ve liked me for a while after all.”

Masrur nodded, watching the few glistening drops of wine left in his cup.

“I still like you. A lot.”

“Aww, thank you sweetheart.” The sickeningly sweet voice Ja’far used when uttering the sarcastic statement made Masrur nearly choke.

“Stop that.”

Ja’far chuckled, giving Masrur an innocent grin.

“But can you try taking her off your mind? Maybe a brothel?” Masrur could see the twitch of a pale eyebrow when Ja’far let himself mutter the words ‘brothel’.

“I don’t want a woman.” Masrur lifted his head, looking out of the tall window.

“A man?”

“Nobody.”

“Hmmm.” Ja’far twirled a few strands of hair between his fingers. “Something you want to do then? Sleep, drink, spar?”

Masrur shook his head. “I don’t know. I want the thoughts of her to disappear.”

“If it’s a simple crush,” Ja’far began, soft and calm and Masrur turned his head towards the older man. “Then it will go over a few months after you got it. Almost like a hidden illness.”

Masrur felt relived at the soft spoken words, and he hoped it was a simple crush, and that it would go over. And honestly, if it was someone he really liked in that sense, it wasn’t Morgiana by a long shot.

The bed had dipped under his weight when he sat down, creaking, and now the creaks came again, Ja’far sat down next to Masrur.

Ja’far let the tips of his fingers slide over Masrur’s defined knuckles, body leaning in, feeling the warmth _radiating_ of Masrur before even touching him.

Masrur didn’t have women flocking around him like Sinbad, but Ja’far has seen the glances. He didn’t know if it was because of curiousness, imagining the muscled arms under their soft hands. Ja’far could laugh, he had never seen Masrur her vulnerable with anyone, except for himself. He didn’t wanna imagine Masrur with anyone else to be honest, Ja’far looked up at the larger man, red eyes staring back knowingly, Ja’far relaxed, he knows Masrur wouldn’t actually go off with someone else.

It was a scary offer, and Ja’far as a former assassin had worries about being vulnerable with someone, but somehow Masrur made it all fit, placing all their worries away, letting their breaths intertwine and their skin touch, all unbeknownst to outsiders, and only the room’s cold stare saw them, and it kept their secret sealed tightly behind it’s walls.

Masrur felt his shoulders slump when Ja’far hauled himself up into his lap, standing on his knees to reach up to Masrur’s lips.

The short, quick and cold breath meeting his cracked lips was the only warning he got before Ja’far presses himself against Masrur. First their torsos met, then their lips.

He felt his body relax after the first push, and he slipped his tongue outside his lips, running it over Ja’far’s s lower lip in a haste, his strong hand squeezes the smaller man, holding him closer.

The warmth that spread through Ja’far was incredible, and all he wanted to do was to continue this lip lock, even just a few more _seconds—_

They parted. Ja’far let his head hit Masrur’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the man and smiling, the blush in his freckled face was enough to make another thump sound from Masrur’s all too fast beating heart.

“I can hear it.” Ja’far murmured, head to its side and facing Masrur’s neck.

The Fanalis blushes, not as violently like Ja’far, with the porcelain coloured skin giving way for the blood to colour his face a deep red, but a soft pink coloured dusted onto his cheeks, barely noticeable.

Ja’far eyes the Fanalis, and from what he could tell, Masrur wasn’t thinking of Morgiana anymore. Smiling the former assassin stretched himself up, letting himself give the other man a small peck on the cheek.


End file.
